For this my mother wrapped me warm, <br />And called me home against the storm, <br />And coaxed my infant nights to quiet, <br />And gave me roughage in my diet, <br />And tucked me in my bed at eight, <br />And clipped my hair, and marked my weight, <br />And watched me as I sat and stood: <br />That I might grow to womanhood <br />To hear a whistle and drop my wits <br />And break my heart to clattering bits.<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fulfillment/
